for l.k.

you sleep there,
like the smartest person
in the world,

right now,
all you are,
are all my bedsheets,

and somehow
i always feel like
i wake up
in the bottom
of an ashtray.

you have the gall
to wake up
and walk in this room
and hug me
like you own me,
even if i'm drunk.

and in the morning
i know,
that all i'll have to give you
is a cigarette
and a hangover.

but i can promise you,
that if we try,
that one day
we will be the only two living
people left.